


The Implied 'Them or Me'

by proser



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crack, Dinner, Eat The Rude, Episode: s02e10 Naka-Choko, Flirting, Food, M/M, Manipulative Will Graham, Post-Episode: s01e07 Sorbet, Season/Series 02, Short, Tumblr Prompt, not sure if i lived up to the metaphor foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-07 20:26:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12240057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proser/pseuds/proser
Summary: Will crashes Hannibal's dinner party before it can even start.





	The Implied 'Them or Me'

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [granpappy-winchester's tags](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com/tagged/the-implied-%27them-or-me%27) on [this post.](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com/post/165823717957/hannibal-crack-rewatch-one-crack-post-per-episode)

Will enters silently and unannounced. The only thing betraying his presence is the swing of the hinges on the kitchen door, and the barely-audible squeak that accompanies it. 

"You should get that oiled," he says, nonchalance dripping from him like honey.

Hannibal smiles to himself; he doesn't like to be snuck up on. Still, he feigns surprise and glances over his shoulder, setting down his knife and abandoning the chopping block for now. 

"You've arrived early, Will."

Leaning against the counter, Will sets down a wine bottle with a broken rifle on the label: a peace offering.

Hannibal considers it and Will's preemptive arrival, and comes to the inevitable conclusion that Will has once again arrived last minute to reject a dinner invitation.

"You said your door was always open for me," Will reminds him. Idly, he reaches into a pant pocket and procures a single key, which he drops on the counter with a  _chink._ He raises his eyebrows, putting weight to the gesture.

"It is," Hannibal confirms, wondering if he should feel slighted or not. "Though, I don't recall giving you a key."

Will shrugs and slides the key idly back and forth across the countertop, creating tiny scratching sounds. "You've done everything but, I think," he murmurs.

He meets Hannibal's eye and stands up straight, crossing his arms. Under his jacket, he wears one of his signature plaid shirts. The vapidly casual flannel only serves to prove Hannibal's suspicion that Will has only come to jettison his place at the table.

All the same, his demeanor suggests something different, though Hannibal has yet to determine what that is.

If it's a game Will is offering, Hannibal is more than ready to play.

"Perhaps I have," he says, and turns his back to resume his work. "What have you done for me in return, Will?"

Hannibal thinks of the way Will rebuilt Randall Tier, the ease with which he lied to Jack Crawford. Something stirs inside of him, and he swallows it back down.  

"Last I checked," Will answers, "we were perfectly even."

The sound of shifting fabric behind Hannibal clues him into Will's approach. He continues slicing the beets into paper-thin rounds, undeterred.

"We are, of course," he says, recalling the time spent washing Randall's blood from Will's hands, and more recently, the crunch ortolan bones between Will's teeth, face bared for all Hannibal and the gods to see. Equals, indeed.

But that does not change the fact that Will might very well be  _bailing_ on him. He thinks of the key. 

"That said," he adds, "in offering you my company, Will, I expect you do not deny me of the same."

Will scoffs from behind him, close enough that Hannibal can feel his breath. He feels slightly cornered.

"Deny you, Hannibal?" Will huffs. "I've _killed_ for you. I can't think of anything I would deny you yet."

The hairs on the back of Hannibal's neck stand up. With a controlled breath, he finishes slicing the beets and carries the board over to another part of the counter, away from Will and his unforeseen proximity. He begins arranging the beets on the salad plate, while Will stands over the discarded knife.

There are plenty of things that Hannibal thinks Will would deny him. For the moment, however, he's fixated on only one.

"The last time you arrived at my house with nothing but a bottle of wine, it was to inform me that you wouldn't be staying for dinner." He bends the beet slices into flower petals with his utmost care; their rigid structure makes them prone to snapping. 

Will laughs, small and wry, his fingers brushing the handle of the knife. "Last time," he mutters, "I was under the impression that we would be dining alone."

Hannibal's hands freeze: the only sign that he's been taken aback. He knows that Will's observational skills are beyond keen, and is certain that the motion did not go unnoticed.

He glances over to catch Will's sly smile, and then steadies himself. He returns to his work and keeps his demeanor cool.

"We've shared many private dinners since then," he says. "You've always neglected to bring wine."

Will picks up the knife and regards the crimson juice beading on the blade. "The circumstances changed," he counters. "You  _did_ frame me for murder."

Hannibal feels that  _stirring_ attempt to rise again, like a pipe threatening to leak in his innermost workings. Will's suggestions are not helping any. 

"Have the circumstances changed again, Will?"

The knife catches the light with a glint, and Will slides his fingers over the edge of the blade. The red clings to his skin. Hannibal is reminded, again, of Tier's blood on Will's knuckles. He imagines it covering the whole of him after he butchered Lounds. 

Will sets down the knife. He rubs the pad of his thumb over his fingertips, staining them scarlet. He looks Hannibal right in the eye, his gaze swimming with something bright and destructive. 

"I believe they have."

Hannibal swallows, but it does little to curb the pressure building in his chest.

"I hope you aren't under the impression that we'll be dining alone  _tonight,"_ he says, fearing his voice might be wavering. "I have other guests to entertain."

With a grin, Will sucks some beet juice from his finger.

"Send them home," he says, and steps closer so that the two of them are only inches apart. "Better yet, call them before they bother with the drive. _I_ don't plan on entertaining them tonight."

Hannibal gets one look at Will's expression (eyes dark and sultry, brows raised with a point to make, lips parted  _just_ so) and comes to a decision. 

"It would be terribly rude for me to make a last minute cancellation, Will."

Will puts his hand on Hannibal's chest, leans so his lips linger close to his ear.

"One unorthodox psychiatrist suggested that I _eat_ the rude. What do you think of that, Hannibal?"

Hannibal lets go of a breath that he hadn't meant to hold onto as that stirring spills into the whole of him: desire and appreciation flooding every vein. 

"I think that neither of us should be denied the satisfaction."

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched Naka-Choko to write this, and boy are Hannibal and Will NOT subtle at Tier's crime scene.
> 
> I also rewatched Sorbet (specifically the scene from the post this story was based on) and when Will says tells Hannibal to "enjoy the wine," it sure fuckin sounds like he had anticipated something other than a dinner party when he brought it.


End file.
